


if you were a flower, you’d be a damnnnndelion

by orphan_account



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: F/M, Florist AU, Gajeel is a florist, IT'S BEAUTIFUL, Language of Flowers, it's chaos, it's madness, the dragonslayers all work in a florist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:13:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6462643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>gajeel is not good with words - but he is good with flowers</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you were a flower, you’d be a damnnnndelion

**Author's Note:**

> im terribly sorry for the terrible title 
> 
> notes for the definitions of the flowers are at the end!
> 
> EDIT: now comes with super amazing art from the lovely gajeely on tumblr pls [check it out here and cry with me ](http://gajeely.tumblr.com/post/142317980973/he-feels-a-little-sorry-for-her-theres-a-look)

Sometimes, and _only_ sometimes, Gajeel finds himself thinking back to his younger days. Back when his name was whispered with a hint of fear, when people would purposely lower their gaze and avoid him in the street because he was _Bad News_ ™ and nobody wanted to get on the wrong side of him.

In all actuality, a lot of his supposed exploits had been _greatly_ exaggerated. There had, for example, been no daring bank robbery where he used a police officer as a shield, he wasn’t part of the mafia or the yakuza or whatever gang he often found his name affiliated with, and he didn’t run an illegal animal smuggling ring.

(Something Natsu had been _extremely_ disappointed to learn, as he’d apparently been in the market for a Komodo dragon at the time.)

He doesn’t often reminisce on his younger days; they’re typically full of bad memories and he isn’t eager to relive the loneliness that ultimately came with the ridiculous rumours that persistently followed him around from his teens all the way into his early twenties.

But today?

Today he _does_. Because, back when he was Bad News™, he commanded a certain kind of respect. And today he misses that respect. People feared him, they avoided him in the street, they did as he said, they—

“Purple, I think.”

He eyes his youngest cousin warily, watching as she plucks several dwarf iris bulbs from her pile and begins to wrap the stem around a thin piece of wire, already cluttered with several other flowers in various colours.

“What do you think, Natsu?”

“ _Definitely_ purple,” Natsu grins, glancing up from his magazine for the briefest of seconds to inspect Wendy’s choice of flower. “And maybe a little pink? Try the azalea’s.”

“ _Oooh_ ,” Wendy nods in agreement, sifting through her pile to find the flowers she needs to complete her project. “Great idea.”

Gajeel decides then and there that he really needs to stop hiring family. Though, that _would_ mean he wouldn’t have any employees but _still_ , that’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make if it’ll mean the end of _this_.

“Finished!” Wendy chirps happily, brandishing her newly made flower crown in the air. If he’s honest with himself, it’s actually pretty good, but he’s not going to tell her that. Not when she has that determined glint in her eye he knows only means trouble for him.

He watches, arms still crossed tightly over his chest to show just how against this he is, as Wendy scrambles up onto her stool, hesitating for just a moment before she drops her flower crown over his head.

“There,” she says happily, pulling back to inspect her work after she’s finished adjusting it. “Now we all match.” She grins widely, gesturing to where Natsu is stood leaning against the counter, proudly wearing his own crown - bright red with orange splotches that clash horribly with his hair, that Natsu had insisted on anyway because ‘it looks like a  _flame_ , duh’ - and back to her own crown that rests above her own head. Sitting on the counter, waiting for their other coworkers to start their shifts later in the day, are four more crowns. “It’s like a uniform.”

“We already have a uniform,” Gajeel grunts, pointing to his dark green apron that proudly bears the words ‘ _Back to the Fuchsia_ ’ in bright white letters across the chest.

“Okay,” Wendy says slowly, rolling her eyes at Natsu. “So now we have a better uniform. We look cute.”

Natsu nods enthusiastically and Gajeel wants to say that he doesn’t want to look cute. That he’s a heavily pierced, six foot two, twenty-six-year-old man with absolutely _no_ business looking cute. That all he wants to do is sell his flowers, make his money, and retire to the coast where certain annoying cousins can’t find him. But, before he even has the chance to tug the crown off his head and demand they get back to work, the door to his store jangles open and he’s suddenly fixing his best customer service smile onto his face while hissing for Wendy and Natsu to act like they’re actually doing something.

He watches as a young woman steps through the doors and glances around the store. She hesitates for a moment or two, brows visibly pulling into a small frown, before she steps forwards and approaches the counter. 

“Can I help?” 

He doesn’t need to glance behind him to know what Wendy is cringing. She’s always had a problem with his “quite frankly, _awful_ ” customer service, but he’s been at it for too long to care to change anything about it. His regular customers know what they’re getting with him anyway, and it’s been a while since he’s had a _real_ complaint. 

It takes him less than a second to realise that she’s been crying. Her eyes are puffy and her cheeks are red, as if she’s spent the last couple of minutes trying to furiously scrub away tears in a failed attempt to hide the fact that she’d even been crying in the first place. “I—uh,” she clears her throat. “I need a flower. I need _some_ flowers.” She says it likes she’s asking a question, eyes darting to meet his gaze before she quickly turns and looks away.

He bites back a snort of derision. His customer service may be shit (Natsu’s choice of word), but he knows it’s probably not a good idea to laugh at a customer right to their face, especially a customer that looks like she’s about two seconds away from bursting into tears. And he _really_ doesn’t need that. Instead he simply nods and gestures for her to follow him down the counter where they have baskets of display flowers. “What’s the occasion?”

“Birthday.” She glances back up at him again and this time actually manages to meet his gaze for a few seconds before she turns and looks away, lips twitching upwards into the first hint of smile he’s seen from her. “Is this— Is this  _your_ store?”

He grins at that, understanding the reaction perfectly well. It’s the same reaction he gets from almost everyone the moment they step into his store. He knows, better than anyone, that he doesn’t look like the type of person to own a florist and that, aesthetically, he’d probably be more suited to the tattoo shop down the street, but he _likes_ flowers. He’s _good_ with flowers. Always has been, and he can’t imagine anything else he’d rather be doing. Piercings and all. 

“What?” He asks with a sly grin, tugging samples from the baskets. “I don’t look like I could own a flower shop?”

(“ _No_ ,” Natsu calls very loudly from the stockroom and Gajeel very pointedly ignores him.)

Her eyes widen - she has rather nice eyes Gajeel realises, even despite the obvious redness - and she takes step backwards, an apology already on the tip of her tongue, when Wendy slides over to where they’re standing and roughly pokes Gajeel with the stalk of a rose. 

“Don’t tease the customers,” she chides, hefting herself onto a stool while she smiles softly at the woman. “Anyone special?”

There’s a pause and then—

"My father,” the woman murmurs, and Gajeel wonders if he’s imagining the hint of sadness in her tone. He glances down at Wendy and sees his cousin frowning and knows that he hasn’t.

"Go and help Natsu,” he murmurs, nudging Wendy with his leg, “I’ve got it handled up here.”

Wendy nods, barely hesitating as she slides off her stool and scurries off to the stockroom, leaving Gajeel alone with his newest customer. He feels a little sorry for her. There’s a look in her eyes, a look he knows only too well, a look he’s seen mirrored in his _own_ reflection far too many times.

He hesitates for a second before he reaches forwards and plucks a white carnation and a larkspur from the display basket. “These doing anything for you?” 

She nods but he doubts she’s _really_ looking at the flowers he’s chosen and, even if she was, he knows the meaning is lost on her. Still, it’s not his job to lecture his customers on the intricacies of flower language, he just has to sell them something they think is pretty. “Thanks,” she says as Gajeel crouches behind the counter to bring out the actual flowers he’ll use for her bouquet. “They look nice.”

He grunts in response as he focuses on carefully wrapping the flowers in cream paper and tying them together with a dark green bow. He hears her breath hitch in her throat when he finally brandishes the finished piece, and he knows he done a good job. It’s a simple bouquet, not overstated by still striking, with a row of dark purple larkspurs making up the middle, while white carnations line the edges. 

“It’s _beautiful_ ,” she says as he hands her the bouquet and she begins fishing around for her purse. He takes a wary step backwards when he notices her eyes watering. He’s not good with tears, he never knows what to say or what to do but he feels like he _should_ say something to this woman.

While she fumbles for the right chance, he ducks behind the counter again tugging out a lone flower. It’s a hydrangea and, he realises when he holds it out in front of her, it matches her hair. Light blue with streaks of a darker shade every now and then. 

“Here,” he says, pretending like he doesn’t notice the utterly confused look on her face as she reaches out and hesitantly grabs the flower.

“W-What is th—”

“Just to help you feel better,” he says gruffly. He’s not good with this. He’s not good with words and comforting people - _especially_ strangers. What’s he supposed to say? _Sorry your dad died, I know it’s tough but it gets easier - not better,_ never _better - but it does get easier_. Well. Actually, that’s _exactly_ what he should say but he can’t wrap his tongue around the words, so he settles for a flower instead. 

“Thank you,” she says, lips quirking upwards into a small smile, despite the tears, as she clutches both the bouquet and her lone flower to her chest. “Really. Just— _Thank you_.” 

He nods and waves her away, that’s enough emotion in his store for one day, and she shoots him another smile before she scurries towards the exit. She tugs open the door and steps outside, before apparently thinking better of it. 

She turns back to face him and he’s surprised to see she’s smiling at him, _actually_ smiling. A wide grin that spreads from cheek to cheek and brightens up her whole face. “I like your crown,” she says simply before ducking her head once more and shooting out the door.

Gajeel feels his cheeks redden as he lifts a hand a gingerly taps at his forehead to check whether the crown Wendy had stuck on earlier is still there.

His fingertips brush against the petals and he groans. _Loudly_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next time he sees her, it’s almost two weeks later and in he’s in the middle of an argument with Natsu and Sting about whether they should get a store cat. Apparently they’d _both_ seen one they like at the cat rescue centre just down the road and are now both adamant that ‘ _Back to the Fuchsia_ ’ really, _really_ , needs a cat.

“Gajeel how often do you see a _blue_ cat?”

“Who _cares_ if it’s blue. _My_ cat was wearing a coat. A coat wearing cat - he could be our mascot. Gajeel? Have you ever thought about getting a mascot?”

Gajeel tunes them both out, resisting the urge to ask _why_ on Earth a florist would need a _cat_ as their mascot, as he puts the finishing touches on an order for a business down the road.

The bell above the door tinkles loudly as it’s pushed open and Gajeel glances up, quirking an eyebrow as a familiar face walks in.

She looks better this time.

There’s still a sadness in her eyes he spots right away, but her cheeks aren’t tearstained and she’s smiling, smiling brightly but almost _shyly_ as she approaches the counter.

“No crown today?” she says by way of greeting as she leans against the counter.

“No crow—” He pauses and shoots her a half-hearted glare. “No crown today.”

“Pity,” she laughs and it’s a  _nice laugh_ , Gajeel thinks. “It was a good look on you.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “I’ll let our resident flower crown maker know. Now, can I help?” If he’s honest with himself, he hadn’t expected to see her in the store again. Most of his clients are either regulars he knows by name, businesses around the area that want a floral display in their reception or offices, or one-off customers, usually people who have forgotten anniversaries or birthdays and frantically dash into the first florist they pass on their way home.

“I’d like a bouquet.”

He quirks a brow as if to say: _No shit._

“I just started a new job,” she clarifies, a knowing grin tugging at her lips as if she’d correctly deciphered his raised brow. “Just a few streets down. The office is pretty bare so I thought I’d bring some flowers in, to spruce it up, you know?”

He nods, sensing a new regular client for the store, and gestures for her to follow him down the counter. “Where’re you working?” he asks as he plucks flowers from their respective baskets. 

“There’s a literary agency just a few streets down,” she says, watching carefully as he tugs flowers into yet another striking arrangement. Office arrangements are easy for him. People want bright colours and interesting shapes to distract from the monotony of their jobs. “Fairy Tales. Have you heard of it?”

He shakes his head trying to remember all the companies in the area he’s done business with over the years. “Don’t think so.”

“They’re— _We’re_ pretty small,” she corrects herself with a sheepish smile. “But the team seem nice and welcoming and— I don’t know. I guess— I guess I’m nervous? I’m sorry,” she says quickly, ducking her head to hide the redness he’s _already_ seen growing her her cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

He shrugs because he doesn’t know either, and sticks the bouquet in the air. “Any good?”

“ _Beautiful_ ,” she breathes, her voice bursting with so much honesty, it actually throws him off a little. He’s used to people complementing his arrangements, he _is_ good at what he does after all, but there’s something about the way she says it, the way her eyes shine just a little, the way her fingers tremble slightly as she reaches out for it, that’s unlike any other kind of praise he’s heard before. “You’re really talented, you know?”

He grunts awkwardly and turns away. He’s used to praise _yes_ , but he’s not used to it sounding so earnest.

“This’ll look great in the office,” she’s saying, but he’s barely paying attention as he reaches into another basket and plucks a single flower out. 

A stephanotis. 

He twists it in his hands, hesitating for a long moment before he turns and hands it to the woman. 

Her eyes widen as she stares at the tall, bright white, flower in his hands before her gaze softens and she smiles up at him. “What’s this for?”

He shrugs because he’s not sure what to say. _Thanks for the compliments and good luck with your job. There’s no need to be so nervous, you’ll do fine_. Again, he knows that this is _exactly_ what he’s supposed to say but, once again, his tongue fumbles around the words. 

So he hands her a flower, not really caring that the meaning of it is probably completely lost on her.

She takes it anyway, cheeks just a little bit pinker than before as she twirls the flower in her hands. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

She bows her head a little and heads for the exit, pausing just in front of the door to glance back at him. “I’m Levy, by the way.”

“Gajeel,” he’s saying before he even recognises it himself.

She smiles again, and Gajeel idly thinks that one day, that smile is going to be the death of him, before she pushes open the door, gives him one last wave, and hurries down the street, clutching her flowers tightly to her chest. 

“What—” Natsu says, as soon as the shop is empty once again.

“The _hell—_ ” Sting adds, clambering over the counter to get a look at Gajeel.

“ _Was that_?” they both breathe in unison, staring at Gajeel as if he’s suddenly sprouted two heads.

“What was _what_?” Gajeel snaps gruffly, purposely turning away from both of them. Embarrassingly, he’d actually forgotten they were both in room and he doesn’t particularly want to _think_ about what that might mean.

“You gave her a _flower_.”

“I’m a _florist_ Natsu.” 

“Nuh-uh,” Sting says, practically sliding across the counter to get in Gajeel’s face. “A _single_ flower.”

“A _stephanotis_.”

“She starts her new job today. I was— I was just being nice.”

Natsu and Sting share a Look™ before Natsu says, “since when were _you_ nice?”

Gajeel grabs a pile of discarded stems and chucks them at both of them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They strike up a little routine fairly quickly. She comes in once a week for a bouquet for her office and he, without fail, ends up giving her another flower. Just the one. 

He doesn’t do it on _purpose_. When he sees her strolling through the doors, that bright smile etched onto her face, he doesn’t automatically think ‘yep, she’s getting a flower today’, it just sort of happens. While she’s waiting for him to finish with her bouquet, they talk about anything and everything. Well, she talks and he listens and, at the end of their conversation, he gives her a flower.

He’s given her fifteen flowers now (Wendy is keeping count) and he remembers each and every one.

There was the yarrow when she came in with a blocked nose and nasty cough one day, the lily stargazer when she had a big meeting with an important client, and then the lily _casablanca_ when, the following week, she entered the store and told him she’d secured a publishing contract with the important client.

“You _like_ her,” Wendy says, leaning against the counter, a half built flower crown in her hands. 

“Like who?” Gajeel murmurs absentmindedly, frowning as he struggles to twist a stem into shape for a particularly tricky display. It’s just him and Wendy in the store and, usually, he prefers it that way. Sting and Natsu are loud, Rogue is terrible with the customers, Cobra doesn’t wear his uniform properly (Gajeel isn’t sure how one person can mess up an apron so badly, but Cobra does) and Laxus _—_ Well, actually Laxus isn’t that bad. 

But still, he usually prefers it when it’s just him and Wendy.

_Usually_.

“Levy,” Wendy says, leaving off the implied ‘ _duh’._ “You like Levy.”

“ _You_ ,” Gajeel says sharply, wagging a broken stem at her, “have been hanging around Natsu too much.”

“Nope!” she swings off her stool and leans against the counter. “You _like_ her and _don’t_ try and deny it,” she says quickly, apparently anticipating his response. “You have a crush.”

He snorts because he _doesn’t_ have a crush. Number one, he’s not fourteen years old again and number _two_ , he just doesn’t have one in the first place. He likes Levy, sure, but as a _customer_. Maybe even a friend.

Yeah. As a _friend_. 

She’s easy to talk to which is actually quite amazing considering he doesn’t _really_ talk to anyone outside of his immediate circle of family and friends. He also _enjoys_ talking to her, finding out about her week and trying to gauge whether it’s been a good one for her or not. And, OK _yes_ , she is attractive, he’ll admit that, and he _does_ kind of look forward to seeing her smile and her laugh and _—_

_Oh God._

Oh _God_.

He _does_ have a crush. 

“Told ya,” Wendy says, cackling unashamedly when she notices the look on his face. Gajeel doesn’t even have the heart to argue with her because she’s _right_. 

That week, for her sixteenth flower, Gajeel gives Levy a yellow chrysanthemum.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Give her a red rose,” Natsu says casually, the second he steps into the store.

Gajeel shoots Wendy a glare. “You _told_ him?” 

She puts her hands up defensively and offers him a sheepish smile. “It’s not like it was _that_ hard to figure out. But yes. I told him.” At least, Gajeel thinks wryly as he absentmindedly wonders if his aunt would be _too_ mad if he fired her daughter, she has the decency to at least pretend to look guilty.

“And I am _not_ giving her a red rose,” Gajeel snaps, turning his glare to Natsu. Roses are _easy_ , every idiot knows what a rose means and, honestly, he’d rather die than have Levy decipher to meaning to the flowers he’s been handing out every week.

They’re on the twenty-fifth or maybe twenty-sixth flower now. Thats twenty-five, or maybe twenty-six, weeks they’ve known each other and Gajeel would be lying to _everyone_ if he didn’t admit that he liked her. A lot. 

He can’t deny that he looks forward to her weekly appearances in the store, that he finds himself watching the clock waiting for her arrival every Monday afternoon so they can spend their fifteen minutes together.

"It’s _pathetic_ ,” Cobra tells him one day when Levy leaves the store (clutching her office arrangement and an orchid). “Watching you pine after her.”

_That_ annoys him because he is definitely _not_ pining. He is just _—_ He’s just, admiring from a distance. 

“That is literally the definition of pining you ass.” 

Gajeel kicks him under the counter but he decides that maybe Cobra is right.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He knows something is wrong when she walks into the store with another woman. In the thirty-four weeks (that’s thirty-four flowers) he’s known her, she’s never visited with anyone else. 

But this time she does.

A blonde woman tugs her through the entrance, a determined look on her face while Levy stumbles slowly behind her, looking as if she wants the world to swallow her whole. She’s walking awkwardly, with one hand behind her back and the other clutching onto her friend’s arm, desperately trying to pull her backwards and out of the store.

He’s about to ask what the hell is going on when the blonde woman turns on him and points a finger in his face. “This is him?”

“ _Lucy!”_

The friend (Lucy?) ignores Levy’s cry and storms up to the counter. “You? You’re the reason I’ve got an office full of flowers _someone_  won’t let me get rid of?”

“I _—_ ”

It doesn’t appear like she _actually_ wants an answer because as soon as Gajeel opens his mouth to respond (in confusion), she’s turned back around and is tugging Levy towards the counter. 

“Go on,” she says, shoving Levy gently forwards. “Do it. _Tell him_.”

" _Lucy_  I _—_ ”

Lucy shoots her a Look™ and Levy pulls a face but, somewhat reluctantly, shuffles forwards till she’s pressed up against the counter, staring up at Gajeel.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and stares at him for a second or two. He’s about to ask her what the hell is going on when she _finally_ speaks.

“This _—_ ” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “This is for you.” 

And then she hands him a flower.

Gajeel’s eyes widen and he feels a slow grin tugging at his lips as he plucks the flower from her hand.

It’s a yellow tulip.

He feels his heartbeat quicken and then maybe skip a beat or two, but then quicken again.

“I _—_ I uh,” she smiles weakly up at him, her cheeks redder than he’s ever seen before. “I’ve been reading up on flower language and I felt like _—_ Well, I thought this would _—_ ”

“Me too,” he cuts across her, knowing what she wants to say because it’s what _he’s_ wanted to say for the last three months. She smiles at that, looking like she’s never been more relieved and, suddenly, Gajeel feels very brave. 

He doesn’t care that his cousins and her friend (Lucy, was it?) are standing around watching them and that this will probably be plastered all over Facebook within _minutes_ , all he cares about is the blushing woman in front of him and the yellow tulip in his hand. 

So he reaches behind the counter, plucks another flower from its basket and hands it to her.

It’s a red tulip.

Her eyes widen and her fingers tremble as she presses it gently against her chest and he’s suddenly hit with the realisation that she _meant_ it when she said she’d been reading up on flower language, because the look on her face tells him she knows _exactly_ what a red tulip means.

Her lips twitch upwards into a smile - _that_ smile - and Gajeel decides to hell with it. He leans across the counter and captures her lips in a kiss, yellow tulip clutched in his free hand, a red tulip clutched in hers.

Words, he thinks idly, as he feels her free hand come up to clutch at his shirt, words are  _definitely_ overrated.

**Author's Note:**

> here are some rough meanings of the flowers used. also, flowers can have more than one meaning so this isn’t a definitive list as well ~
> 
> White carnation - Remembrance  
> Larkspur - Beautiful spirit  
> Hydrangea - Perseverance  
> Stephanotis - Good luck  
> Yarrow - Good Health  
> Lily Stargazer - Ambition  
> Lily Casablanca - Celebration  
> Yellow Chrysanthemum - Secret Admirer  
> Orchid - Delicate beauty  
> Yellow Tulip - Hopelessly in love  
> Red Tulip - Declaration of love


End file.
